Chapter Nine

Several days later, Elena once again found herself at the piano, sitting next to her husband. She had agreed to a music lesson, as he had asked her several times, but she had an ulterior motive to question him about his desires.

"My lord."

"David."

"Husband." He weighed this response and nodded in concession. She decided to forge ahead. She had thought continuously about this subject since they left the hospital and decided to tackle it head-on.

"I must ask a blunt and uncomfortable question, but I think it will make our way forward easier." She paused, trying to get the wording right. "Do you desire to accelerate ‘maybe someday' out of a need for an heir? Or do you perhaps desire me?"

She looked up, not realizing how nervous she was until that moment, as her heart fluttered like a moth seeking the light. She was not sure what she wanted his answer to be.

He again appeared to be weighing his words as he glanced at the keys. "There is the answer that is more truthful and the answer that would frighten you less."

"I think the truth is preferable, however difficult," she said solemnly. " Mai bine pu?in cu dreptate decat mult cu strambǎtate."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Telling the truth is always the wisest course of action."

"Then you would be correct in your deduction of the latter case. I always cared for you, you must know, but it was without desire, as I was unable to feel that for the longest time. But one day, I smelled amber on your letter—"

"The amber? My grandmother mixed scents."

He nodded, then smiled fondly. "I wondered where that came from. It seemed…sensual for such a sterile medical space."

She blushed. It had been her vanity in those days, one of the few things she had on her person when she had to make the journey to üsküdar. She had tried to sell it for food, but it had been half gone, and no one wanted it when they needed money for food and safe passage themselves.

"I smelled that amber on the letter," he said, then paused. She saw a flush climb up his neck, as he had left off a cravat, being at home. "And then I felt something again. And then I saw you, and it came back tenfold."

She couldn't help but gasp, delighted but also anxious in equal measure. She looked at his eyes, gazing at her full of heat. But not necessarily predatory, like she had known in the past. The heat had a warmth to it as well, like the glow of a fire rather than the flame that would burn. She inhaled a deep breath and tried to remember her conversation from the hospital. She must have appeared pained because David looked at her sympathetically.

"Do you want to talk about it? You told me about what happened before we met but did not…go into great detail."

Everything within her resisted speaking out loud about her greatest shame. She had only told David as much as she had because she thought he might purposefully take too much laudanum, and her emotions had been heightened. David must have noticed her tense.

"You do not have to. It's just ever since I started talking about my own…pain, for lack of a better word, some of the grief and stress has lessened. It hasn't completely gone away, but it's less heavy. It's as if my grief was a satchel full of stones. The stones are still there, but I gave some away, and now it's easier to walk forward."

Elena swallowed. She made a great show of taking her hands off the piano keys, flexing them, and resting them in her lap.

"But it is more than grief for me. It is also shame." David covered her knee with his hand in a gesture of comfort. She took another deep breath and continued. "But mayhap you are right. I found some release in speaking with a woman at the hospital. It may help in bearing the burden, I suppose."

She sighed and began. "When the Russians first began to invade Dobruja, I did not understand what the fighting was for. I later read in the English papers that the tsar believed that the Orthodox Christians in the Ottoman Empire would rise up and fight for them when the army invaded. But they did not. I think that maybe, it is possible that Anatole, the man I ran away with, was…not a spy, but a scout maybe, someone to report back to the Russian army on the Orthodox in the empire. While there were many people in our village from different backgrounds, we rarely had new parishioners. I should have noticed it was strange that a young Russian man began to attend our church services. But I was so infatuated, I could not see."

She began to play stray keys on the piano, as she had seen David and Irene do before.

"I left a note for my family, but it was purposefully vague. Looking back, I do not know what I was thinking. I imagined he would take me to Russia with him. How silly that seems now." She hit a sour note and stopped pressing the keys. "I see now how he knew the timing of everything. When I changed my mind and ran away from him, I think that was part of why he was so angry, because that messed up his plan. But I just wanted to see my family again, to beg their forgiveness. I didn't know the army would come through our village that day. I did not know much of anything, I suppose."

She began to shake, thinking of the carnage and utter chaos of leaving her beloved home to find everything completely upside down in a matter of hours. She had always longed for adventure and romance but quickly found that all she wanted was the home she could never have again. David put his arm around her shoulders, and some of the shaking subsided.

"I had only been away half a day, but I didn't know what to do. So, after the army left, I joined a caravan of refugees headed to Varna and eventually üsküdar, what you call Scutari. My family had planned to go there if they were forced out, so I thought…"

She exhaled, wondering how to express this shame. Perhaps if he heard it, he wouldn't want her anymore. It was worth finding out.

"I thought, if I made it to üsküdar, my father knew merchants there. But I had no directions or a full name. I had thought I could find something, someone. But there was a price." She paused, uncertain of how to go forward. Holding her gaze, David slowly laid his hand across the hand in her lap, stroking it gently.

She distanced herself from herself, as she talked about with Annamaria, but not completely. She just needed a little space so that she could go on.

"I had almost nothing of value after I sold my grandmother's cross." Her hand involuntarily went to her neck, but it was bare like it had been the past three years. "I was starving and exhausted, so when some men in the caravan started to touch me at night, I couldn't say no. I didn't have the fight left in me. I had no one and nothing to protect me and nothing to offer them to get them to stop, nothing for them to eat, to steal but my body. I didn't ask for it, but I couldn't stop it once it started. They were too weak from disease and starvation to…finish the act, but their hands, they used their hands to…" She could not finish. It was too much. It was all too much. "I was afraid they would hurt me or leave me behind to die, so I just lay there, frozen."

She said the last few words so quietly she wasn't sure he had heard. She felt her heart pound throughout her body as she remembered that feeling of utter fear and shame but also anger that they would do such a thing to her, well up in her heart. Yet she had kept that anger in check, as the fear overrode everything else, the fear that if they were already committing such an affront to her, what would stop them from killing her? It was a blend of emotions she had never felt before those nights, and she prayed she would never have to feel again. She hoped no one else would ever have to feel that way again, but she knew that was unlikely, given the world they lived in.

David was silent for a long moment. She was waiting for him to remove his hands from hers in disgust, but he tightened his grip.

"They touched you against your will. Their actions were utterly reprehensible. What happened is not your fault."

"But I didn't say no to them!" she whispered, staring at her hands.

"But did you say yes?" he asked slowly.

She shook her head as she returned to herself, fighting the urge to cry.

"Elena, what happened to you, what was done to you, was beyond the pale. I promise. I swear to you I will never touch you unless you ask. Unless you want me to. Do you understand?"

She finally looked into his eyes, the green turning into brown on the edges. Honest eyes, she thought. Eyes that had never lied to her, even as she glanced from one to the other, looking for a sign of deceit. She did not trust herself or her judgment, but she looked into his eyes and only saw truth. Maybe even though she could not trust herself, she could, in this moment, trust him.

She nodded as her gaze crept down his face to his straight, solid nose and surprisingly full lips. Suddenly, all the energy and attraction she had felt since he had returned began to well up inside her body, fighting to explode out of her. It was as if finally telling someone the story had unlocked some kind of permission to feel inside herself. How could she feel so safe and yet in danger all at the same time?

"Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked quietly as he regarded her attention to his lips.

"No." She shook her head. He tried to hide it, but his eyes were crestfallen for a moment.

"I understand. We—"

"No, you misunderstand, Husband. I want to kiss you ."

He pulled back, started to say something, and stopped. He started and stopped again. He really was rather adorable. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his cheek, carefully running her fingers along the ends of his burn scars. He leaned into her palm, and she shifted her hand to run through his hair, which was soft and smooth against her fingers. She felt his arms go around her with great pause as if giving her time to stop or pull away. Drawing his head down to hers, she turned her face up and pressed her lips against his in a kiss that immediately stole her breath away. He kissed her back softly at first, then melted into her with a fire she had never felt from another human before. She did not know how long they sat there until she felt his tongue lightly graze her lips, then she opened her mouth to receive him and experienced a shot of pleasure that traveled down to her toes and back up to the top of her head then out to the tips of her fingers.

Why had they never kissed before? What had it taken so long? Their hands were all over each other now, hers sliding up his muscled arm until she reached his broad shoulders, his trailing down her back, then around, and then up across her chest. He pulled back and looked her in the eye, and she recognized he was asking permission. Permission to touch her. No one had ever asked her permission before. She sensed something unlocking within her again as she mouthed the word yes. She felt one hand stroke her breast, then tenderly cup it as his eyes still sought hers as if to see if his actions were still welcome. She wished she could remove both of their clothing and feel the full sensations against her bare skin. His fingers traced around her breast, circling closer and closer to her nipple, which he caressed lightly with the pad of his thumbs. She gasped. His lips trailed down to her neck, suddenly finding her pulse. He nestled there, gently exploring the spot with his tongue, which sent tremors of pleasure through her entire being. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, and she could hardly draw breath in her corset, in the tightness of her morning dress. She felt she was near a peak but did not know whether to draw back or leap over it.

"Stay with me, Elena. Let me see you." She hadn't even noticed her eyes were closed and her head back until she heard David murmur against her ear. She opened her eyes.

"Do you wish me to stop?" he asked. His breathing was as heavy as hers, but she knew that if they kept going, he wanted it to be her decision.

She straightened up. "For now. I-I need to think. Perhaps some time to recover." She needed to breathe.

He found her gaze, his eyes warm but understanding. "Of course."

As she met his gaze, she felt like she wasn't entirely there, though not like before when she had stepped outside her body to remove herself from a horrible situation. In this, she enjoyed the closeness, the trust that was building there, but there were too many sensations at once. She needed to step back and regain her balance. She needed to make sure she felt safe in what was next.

As she disentangled herself and began to walk away, she was overwhelmed by a sudden and intense wave of desire, and she turned and grabbed his arm. Pulling her against him again, as if giving her time to stop him, he slowly possessed her mouth. Then, she was being lifted onto the piano, and she wrapped her legs around his torso. This wouldn't be possible if she had been wearing a more formal gown but thank goodness her morning dress was lighter than a heavy ballgown.

It had never been like this before, the need to be as close to another person as possible, the need to possess and be possessed. Was this how it should be? Ought to be?

Remembering her resolve, she drew back. She was too much in her thoughts to be fully present. David rested his head against hers, panting, just as she was.

"I know, you need time to think."

She made a sound of agreement, and he kissed her neck, trailing his lips against her skin. Finally, he pulled his lips away.

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist." He leaned his head against her face and smiled against her skin. It was strange that she could feel that sensation so clearly.

"There were two of us here, David. I clearly could not resist either. But I need some time to myself."

He helped her down from the piano, his hands molding onto her body. She imagined again what it would be like without their clothes between them. But first, she needed time and space to think.

He caught her hand this time as she moved to go. "Elena. My door is always open."

She bobbed her head, overcome with a sudden shyness, and turned to leave, feeling his gaze on her back, caressing her skin. Now that this door was open, how would she ever close it? And did she even want to?

****

That evening as she sat at her vanity, Elena realized that she desperately wanted to follow that wild, reckless voice inside her as it whispered to her to open that door. She considered that voice as she dismissed her maid and finished brushing and braiding her hair. She felt guilty that she hardly used her maid other than for formal hairstyles or dresses, but she had taken care of herself most of her life, and she didn't need much help now. She regarded herself in the mirror. She no longer thought herself beautiful like the vain girl she once had been, partly because she felt so out of place in London, partly because of her scar. But mostly because she felt ugly to her soul for what she had wrought, that somehow, she had deserved all that had happened to her for her foolishness and selfishness. But maybe, said a small voice, maybe it wasn't all her fault. Maybe a small part of her deserved to feel beautiful, to feel pleasure again. Heart pounding, she set the brush down, pulled on her wrapper, and walked slowly to her husband's adjoining door. She knocked on David's door, and when she heard no answer, she knew she had to keep going, or her courage would leave her. He had said his door was always open, hadn't he? Mayhap he had not thought she would take his meaning so literally, but she always had the excuse of not knowing English turns of phrase. She opened the door and walked in as if she had done a hundred times before, head held high. She noticed the next chamber door was ajar, and a light came from behind. She kept walking. As she pushed that door, she saw him rising out of the bath, water dripping from his tall, bare form and froze.

****

His wife stood there unmoving before him, her expression, as well as her body, frozen. He couldn't read from her eyes if she felt shock or embarrassment. He looked at Parsons, his new valet, who, ever the professional, nodded and exited, setting the towels he held down.

It was not the most scandalous thing for a wife to come upon her husband in the bath. However, for him, this wife was a different story. He knew she may have seen him without clothes before in the hospital, but that felt a world away. He had been injured, and he was not quite the man he was today, with clear evidence of his regard for her visible to her eyes. He had never before felt so vulnerable and bare, watching, waiting for her to move. He did not know whether to step out and take a towel or let her make the next move. She blinked for a long moment, and he could tell she was weighing her decision.

She wore a plain white nightgown and a wrapper that covered most of her skin, yet he had never seen a more tempting being in his life. Slowly, she took one deliberate step forward. His blood was pounding in his ears. He felt stuck forever in this moment, in this uncertainty of what she would do. He had wanted her to have the power to choose, but this moment was killing him. If only she would touch him. She took another step. Suddenly, he realized her intent as she shrugged out of her wrapper and stepped carefully into the tub.

Still, she did not touch him.

She reached out, finally placing her fingertips just above his hip, still lightly scarred from the explosion that caused his injury. She cocked her head and met his eyes. He could barely make himself move, but he gave her the slightest jerk of his head in assent. She bent down, wetting her nightgown in the process, and kissed the scar above his hip. He felt himself twitch. She then reached out one fingertip and, with great tenderness, ran it from his hipbone, up across his torso, to his collarbone, then his neck, until her finger rested on his lips. He could not speak if Wellington himself had risen from the dead and commanded it. His chest rose and fell as he stood, naked and wet and mesmerized by his golden wife.

She looked in his eyes again as if she were surprised her fingertip was on his mouth. Carefully, she eased her hips and then her breasts up against his body. He could feel his damp skin wetting her crisp white nightgown, his arousal cradled against her abdomen. She took her hand away, placing both her hands on his shoulders, and carefully stood on her toes and reached her lips to his. He took a moment to first recover from his shock and second to make sure that this was what she wanted. Then he wrapped his arms around her, nightgowns be damned, fiercely returning her kiss. He wasn't sure how long they stood there together, but then suddenly, they were both in the water, kissing each other madly as drops splashed onto the chamber floor. Her nightgown was now completely soaked, and he could see her luscious body through every clinging inch as he stroked her beautiful breasts, running his hand over the spectacular fullness of them. Eventually, they broke apart, each breathing heavily, eyes locked. He felt as if he had stepped into some kind of myth or spell, cocooned in this moment with her, and the outside world felt a million miles away as the drips of water echoed his pounding heart.

She looked away, briefly breaking the spell. He swallowed, unsure of what to do next, as he did not want to lose this moment with her. He was reminded of Orpheus turning around to see Eurydice disappear into the ether. He had to save the moment before she slipped away.

"Elena, I ruined your nightgown."

He was an absolute idiot. He had broken the moment and offered her the most basic, obvious information possible. But it was the only thing his brain could make himself say. She looked down as if only now aware of where she was and what she was wearing.

"It's only a nightgown."

She then stood and slowly pulled the garment over her head. Every golden part of her, glistening with water, was now revealed before him. He felt almost blinded by the gold of her skin and hair, the reflection of the copper tub, and the water. Carefully, he rose and wrapped her in one of the soft towels Parsons had left, then stepped out of the tub and picked her up. Normally, he needed a cane to walk for longer than a few steps, but he figured he could make it to the bed this one time. He carried her back to his bedchamber and laid her out on his bed. Looking down at her, he thought he had never seen anything or anyone so lovely in all his life. He suddenly became very aware of the scars on his face and body, of his difficulty walking for long periods. As if she could read his thoughts, Elena slowly drew his head to hers, kissing his temple softly. He felt such awe, such luck that in all the world, this woman had stumbled upon his sickbed and read to him and made him laugh. That she was showing him he was more than his looks, more than his title. He had never felt this mix of desire and tenderness together before in his life. He wanted to do something for her.

"You know," he said, breaking the spell of silence that had entwined them. "I've never seen your hair down before."

He stroked her braid, a long mix of brown and gold that felt like silk in his hands. His fingers reached the end of her braid, knotted with purple ribbon, which seemed sensual for bedtime but somehow fit his wife. He looked up at her with a question in his eyes, and she gave a small nod of assent. He needed her to know, that even with taking down her hair, she had control. He pulled on the ribbon gently, spilling her hair onto the bedclothes. It felt as if he were unwrapping a present, as intimate as undressing her, as though they were not lying naked together already. Her hair spilled onto her shoulders and into the valley of her breasts. He gathered a handful of her hair and inhaled deeply.

Amber and honey, the heart of his desire. He gently nestled the golden-brown strands and kissed the silkiness. He felt her watching him, and he lay her hair back against her breasts, letting his fingers linger there. He worshipped her beautiful breasts, still damp from the water, cupping and stroking them, filling his hands. He then replaced his fingers with his lips, his tongue. The sound of her moans inflamed him, and he soon found the space in between her breasts and claimed it with his mouth. After he used his lips and tongue to trace around both of her breasts, teasingly reaching the center as she arched into him, he then began to kiss his way down her body as she responded even more to his touch. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he looked up at her.

She was watching him, waiting. He gestured at her sex with a nod. She looked dazed, her golden-brown eyes shining in the dark. He nodded again, and he could see understanding dawn in her eyes. She gave a small, almost indiscernible dip of her head in assent, and he grinned against the inside of her thigh. He wondered if she had ever done this before. A small part of him hoped he was the first to bring her this kind of pleasure. He blew cool air on the apex of her thighs, and she shivered. Then he slowly spread her legs wider and kissed her lightly on her sex. She moaned again, deeper and more urgent. He gently used his tongue to stroke the essence of her, and he saw her hands clutch the bedclothes for purchase. He had one hand spreading her sex, and he pushed the other up between her breasts to that spot, his spot really, where he could feel her heart beat rapidly against his palm. Now that she was laid out before him, he began to use a steady rhythm with his tongue. He heard her breathing change into shorter gasps, which kindled his desire, and he increased his speed as she moaned in response. When he began to feel her body arch, he looked up as he wanted to watch her climax. With her head back and eyes closed, she opened her mouth as if to cry out, but instead, she gave a whisper of a gasp full of joy and sweet release. Then, the corner of her lips began to turn upward as she came back down, and he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life as that smile. That he had brought her that smile made him feel ten feet tall. As she opened her eyes, he moved beside her, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her lazy, well-pleasured smile gave way to a confused expression.

"Did you want to, um?" It seemed his wife had not quite recovered the power of speech. That thought brought David a not unsubstantial amount of pride.

"Not tonight. Tonight was about your pleasure. Tonight was about what you wanted, how you felt. Did you like that?"

He ran his hand through her hair, which ran in waves past her breasts, and let his hand rest in that spot between them that he liked so well.

"Yes, but—" She bit her full bottom lip. He had a feeling of what she was afraid to say.

"Elena, I've had a lot of time to think about pleasure and sex. It isn't just about penetration. There are many different ways to enjoy marital relations. This is one of them." When he first sustained his injury, it had made him feel like less of a man. Even though he was able to feel desire again, the experience opened him up to reconsidering what made him a man and what made sex, well, sex.

She pulled back to look at him, and she must have liked what she saw because she laid her head on his chest and nestled against him. He kissed the top of her head and drew the bedclothes over them, carefully tucking them around her body. He was so grateful that she gave him the chance to touch her body, to bring her pleasure. He wanted to say so much, but he heard her breathing change, and he could feel her fall asleep against his chest. There was a strange intimacy in listening to another person fall asleep, he decided. He felt like she had entrusted something precious to his keeping. He wrapped his arms around her, and promised himself he would protect her, protect that trust with his life, then he joined his wife in sleep.